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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26437810">it's getting late, and i cannot seem to find my way home tonight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/happypuppys/pseuds/happypuppys'>happypuppys</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the dream team fics [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Crying, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, idk what to tag</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:46:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,684</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26437810</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/happypuppys/pseuds/happypuppys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The zombie apocalypse started 3 years ago. </p><p>Dream remembers what that day was like, way too clearly. He wasn’t at school that day, because he had been sick the night before, and he didn’t want to risk getting his “friends” sick. And he had been on his phone, scrolling through some app (he couldn’t remember that part) until an alarm had gone off of the TV, scaring him, and he had looked up. The news anchor was talking, fast, and all he got to hear were the words zombie apocalypse and every man for themself until the sound of glass shattering broke the noise, and he whipped around, searching.</p><p>or, Dream's 17 and then 20 in the zombie apocalypse, and he's <i>scared</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the dream team fics [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913893</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>350</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>it's getting late, and i cannot seem to find my way home tonight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>ok so i wrote like 2.6k words of this the day before a science test and stayed up until 3am writing it bc i couldnt sleep and then i failed my test but now here we are &lt;3</p><p>i told fatima i would get to 5k before she woke up BUT i didnt so here!!!</p><p>dedicated to fatima n my new friends jay and woot!!!! bet u didnt see this coming</p><p>uh title from c'mon by panic! at the disco and fun.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The zombie apocalypse started 3 years ago. </p><p>Dream remembers what that day was like, way too clearly. He wasn’t at school that day, because he had been sick the night before, and he didn’t want to risk getting his “friends” sick. And he had been on his phone, scrolling through some app (he couldn’t remember that part) until an alarm had gone off of the TV, scaring him, and he had looked up. The news anchor was talking, fast, and all he got to hear were the words <em> zombie apocalypse </em> and <em> every man for themself </em> until the sound of glass shattering broke the noise, and he whipped around, searching.</p><p>He couldn’t remember ever moving that fast in his life.</p><p>He had rushed up the stairs, finding his gym bag, and shoved everything he thought he would need, and he<em> ran </em> . He ran and he ran and he ran, until he couldn’t hear the screaming, until he couldn’t hear the noises, until he couldn’t hear <em> anything </em>. All he could hear was the noise of his own breathing, and then eventually, the noise of him crying, crumpling to the ground.</p><p>The forest was silent, as if it knew what was happening in the world, as if it needed time to grieve. To prepare. He didn’t know. All he knew is that once the zombies reached him, he would be fucked, and that wasn’t good. He needed to be prepared.</p><p>And so he ran.</p><p>He didn’t stop until he came upon something, be it a shack, a house, a building, or people. But it took a while, and he could still hear the noises, he couldn’t escape them, but he found <em> something </em>. And so he stopped, resting, waiting.</p><p>Throughout the next couple of weeks, he gathered, he learned, and he prepared. He carried a backpack and his gym bag, one full of food and water, and the other full of his clothes. A first aid kit found in a short building was stuffed into his backpack, and it was forgotten until he nearly fell off a cliff. He found a baseball bat, and it stayed, until he stumbled upon a katana one day, left in a dojo, and he decided he would like that <em> much </em> better. He still kept the bat, though.</p><p>He learned to keep quiet as he ran, and slept lightly, always ready to get up and sprint. He learned how to use the katana, and he didn’t even encounter his first zombie until a month later. Except, the zombie was fast. It was <em> fast </em>, not slow like in the movies, and it nearly bit him, until he sliced it’s head off, and it stopped.</p><p>He didn’t stop shaking until an hour later.</p><p>The blood is still on his hands, and the stream barely helps.</p><p>It’s still there, no matter how much he scrubs at it, and eventually, he just stops, sitting down in the middle of the stream. Nobody is around, nobody is here to see this. And so he cries.</p><p>And he can almost convince himself the wetness on his face is just from the water splashing up.</p><p>-</p><p>When he cries again, the year has nearly passed.</p><p>The fires stopped, eventually, and as he wandered, he found more and more bodies laying on the side of the road, all gross. He threw up the first few times he saw them, but as he got further and saw more, he got used to it, until it didn’t even affect him anymore. (That was a lie. Sometimes, when he slept at night, they appeared in his dreams, tearing his limbs apart until he couldn’t scream anymore, and he always woke up panting, reaching for his katana.) It didn’t. He swears.</p><p>But, he wasn’t used to the zombies. It’s been a year, but he’s just <em> not </em> . They still scare him when they growl, and they still scare him when they walk, or when they swing their hands, or when they do <em> anything </em>. He jumps, no matter what, and he can’t tell if it’s because of how his life was or if it’s a new habit developed in this strange, fucked up world.</p><p>He can’t tell.</p><p>He cries.</p><p>And that’s his moment of weakness. That’s his vulnerable moment. The worst moment for him to be there. The worst thing.</p><p>He doesn’t even hear the zombie, doesn’t even know it’s there until the teeth break the skin. And he doesn’t even know he’s screamed until his throat scratches.</p><p>The katana feels like second nature, slicing off his head before he can even think, the head flying off and the body slumping down, until all that is left is the blood leaking out of Dream’s body.</p><p>“Fuck.” He mutters, and the tears don’t stop (they never do, until a while later) as he pulls himself up, forcing himself to walk to the nearest building, forcing himself to not stop. And he doesn’t. He doesn’t, until the door is barricaded and the place is cleared. And only then does he let himself collapse, and only then does he let himself cry.</p><p>“Fuck!” He nearly yells, but he doesn’t, only whispering it as he slams his fist down on the ground, groaning when it makes contact. “Fuck.”</p><p>The tears blur his vision, but he gets his first aid kit, and he cleans. He cleans and bandages the wound until he nearly cries again, but he does it, and he just hopes this works. He’s seen the bodies with the zombie bites, but those bodies are never zombie bodies. They’re always human, and he can tell by looking that they had had the bite for a long while before they died, so he must be able to survive the bite. As long as he cleaned it, it must be good, right?</p><p>He hopes.</p><p>-</p><p>A year later, he’s still limping. His right leg <em> hurts </em>, all the fucking time when he walks, and it hurts and he hates it so fucking much, but he can’t stop, he doesn’t want to die, so he goes, and he goes, and he doesn’t ever stop.</p><p>- </p><p>The next year, the 3rd year since all of this fucking shit started, his leg still hurts. He limps, still, and he can walk, but it hurts, and sometimes it will just <em> stop </em>. He’ll be walking, and all of a sudden collapse, which sucks when he’s having to fight off so many zombies.</p><p>But it’s fine. He’s survived this long on his own, he can surely survive longer.</p><p>Except, the next time he’s fighting the giant herd of zombies, more keep <em> appearing </em>. And he’s good at fighting, slashing with his katana, but his makeshift shield breaks, and he throws it at them, stopping some of them, but not the others. And they scratch. They scratch at him, and they try to bite, and they kick and they punch, and he yells, fighting them off, until his fucking katana drops and he can’t find it, and he has to resort to the baseball bat.</p><p>“Eat this you piece of motherfucking shit!” He yells, swinging the bat as hard as he can, smashing them all in their slams brains, until his leg does it’s own thing a moment later, and decides then is the perfect time to collapse. “Shit.” He hisses.</p><p>Luckily, though, one of the zombies accidentally kicks his katana back, and he picks it up and swings, trying to get up, but there’s so <em> many </em>. He tries, though, fighting, but everything hurts, and he starts to study the idea of giving up, until a yell is heard.</p><p>His head whips, trying to find the voice, trying to find where the sound came from, but unfortunately, it gives one of the zombies time to stab him. And when the fuck could they even do that?</p><p>He yells, though. Of course he does. His leg is pinned under his body, the bite mark painfully moving, and his entire body is sore and tired, along with the fucking knife in his body, and it’s just everything. What else could he do? So he swipes, and he gets up, stands as high as he can, but he’s still <em> stuck </em> . He can’t move. The zombies are still on top of him, and he can’t <em> move </em>.</p><p>“Fuck.” He says, again, the tears of frustration starting again, but before he can even swing his katana again, someone is in front of him, swiping through the zombies, killing them all, or knocking them all away, he doesn’t care, but they’re gone, and then there’s a <em> person </em> in front of him.</p><p>He looks short.</p><p>Dream tries to swallow, but his throat is dry, and he has just enough time to remember the fact that he hasn’t eaten or drank anything in a couple days before his body collapses, ether because of that fact, or just because of his fucking leg.</p><p>When he wakes up, it’s night. A bandage is wrapped around his side, and he can feel through his clothes it’s wrapped tight, tight enough to keep everything fine. The candle outside the tent is flickering quietly in the night, and when he listens, he realizes that it’s quiet, the first time he’s heard it been like this since all of this first started.</p><p>It's nice.</p><p>It’s only a moment later he notices someone else is in the tent with him, and he scrambles away, hands looking for anything to use to defend himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the man (boy?) raising his hands, showing that he has nothing else on him.</p><p>“Hey, hey! You’re safe, ok? We aren’t going to hurt you.” The man says, speaking softly, and he looks at him in panic, eyes searching desperately for a lie in his face. He only drops his gaze when he can’t find one.</p><p>“What do you mean ‘we’?” He asks after a moment  of silence, watching as the man smiles and stands up to get out of the tent, calling to someone else outside.</p><p>Dream can’t look at the flap, can’t see whoever this new person is, so he pulls his knees up to his chest and crosses his arms across them, resting his head in this new perch, waiting. And it doesn’t take that long until the new person is in the tent, and he can feel him waiting, sitting. Staring. And eventually he can’t hold back anymore, and he glances up for less than a second, but he finds himself looking again.</p><p>“Nick?” He whispers, staring at the man in front of him.</p><p>The brunette smiles at him, and Dream can feel his eyes start to tear up, so he ducks his head back down, shoving his face in his arms.</p><p>“No, no, this can’t be real. I can’t be dreaming of you again.” He says, his voice nearly breaking in the middle of it. There’s a noise of Nick’s breath, of him breathing in too fast, and he only takes a chance to look again a moment later, and <em> fuck </em> . He can’t fall for this again, he <em> can’t </em>.</p><p>But he kinda wants to.</p><p>“Is it really you?” He asks, his voice shaking, as he looks back up, and he can see Nick’s eyes softening as he looks at him.</p><p>“Of course.” He replies, voice soft, and that’s what breaks Dream.</p><p>He lunges into Nick’s open arms, wrapping his own around Nick’s chest, and he holds onto him, tight, as he cries.</p><p>God, how many years has it been since he last saw Nick? He’s grown since then! It has to be at least 3, right before the whole shitshow happened. Because it had been near Christmas when he had been home alone, sick. And Nick had left near Halloween, when his father got a better job offer and they all moved.</p><p>And they had called everyday since then, either facetiming each other or calling on their phone, talking for hours on end. Some days, they never left the call, and it would be going for hours on end. They got a 2 day record one of those times, but it was ended by Dream’s phone dying, and they never got that extreme again.</p><p>But they had called, every day, every chance they could, because why wouldn’t you? They were best friends, had been since Dream was 7 and Nick was 6, when they met on the playground and discovered they were in the same grade, and instantly started bonding. And soon enough, their bond became unbreakable, and it hadn’t been since childhood.</p><p>This had been the longest they had gone without seeing each other, though. Longest without seeing each other’s face.</p><p>And Dream remembers, that on that day that everything had started, he had pressed on Nick’s name. He had started facetiming him, and the call had gone through a moment before the glass broke. A moment before he ran.</p><p>Did Nick hear his panic? Did Nick think he was about to see his friend in his last moments? Did Nick think of anything other than panic? He doesn’t know.</p><p>All he knows is that right here, right now, he’s in his best friends arms, and he’s crying into his shoulder, and he wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else but here right now.</p><p>“Nick-“ He cries into his shoulder, breaking off the sentence before he can even continue. The younger man doesn’t even say anything, he only continues to run circles into Dream’s back.</p><p>He doesn’t stop crying, not for a while. And they don’t move, neither of them attempting it, no matter how much Dream’s side and leg are killing him. He won’t ruin this moment. He won’t lose Nick again.</p><p>Nick never speaks, never tells him to hush, even when he can feel himself crying harder and his voice becomes rougher, but Nick never tells him to be quiet, only ever rubbing circles in his back and telling him that he’s ok.</p><p>Eventually, a few minutes later, he wipes his eyes and rests on Nick’s shoulder, exhausted. And Nick seems quiet as well, the two of them sitting in the quiet.</p><p>“I just can’t believe you’re real.” Dream says some moments later, still resting on Nick’s body. The younger man never moves to get away, so Dream takes that as a sign that this is okay.</p><p>“I am.” Nick says, tells him. “I’m here. I’m real.”</p><p>“I know.” Dream glances at his friend, and finally lightly pushes off of him, nearly flinging himself backwards until he rights himself. For the first time, really, he takes in Nick.</p><p>He’s taller. It’s not a lot, really, but it’s at least an inch. He’s not taller than Dream, by any means, but he can feel it, definitely. And his <em> hair </em> . He’s gotten a haircut since the last time they saw each other. His arms feel stronger, as well. Last time they had seen each other, Nick had been lifting for a bit, but he hadn’t gotten that strong yet, always shaking his head and telling him <em> not yet </em> when Dream always went <em> pick me up! </em> as they talked.</p><p>Not to mention he seems more… confident. He doesn’t seem to be so awkward anymore. Or so worried. (But of course he would worry, still, it’s the fucking zombie apocalypse.) But he’s changed so much, and yet, he’s still the same little boy that Dream met on the playground that day, smiling at him with a toothy grin, holding his hand as they ran towards the swings. </p><p>“You’ve changed.” He finally says a moment later, his voice quiet, his mouth smiling. </p><p>“Yeah.” Nick agrees, smiling back. He doesn’t say anymore, and Dream doesn’t press him on it. It’s been a stressful day (night?) and he doesn’t mind if he doesn’t want to talk that much.</p><p>He yawns, though, and Nick’s expression softens, as he leans over to lightly shove Dream down. Dream tried to protest, but when Nick gets him down and pulls the cover over him he stops, relaxing.</p><p>“Sorry.” He whispers, and Nick just smiles with that fond look, the one he only ever seemed to use for Dream.</p><p>“Rest.” He tells him back. “I’ll be back later to check on you, alright?”</p><p>Dream tries to reply, to tell him an answer, but he’s already slipping into sleep before he can think of one.</p><p>When he wakes up, he can hear talking. He doesn’t listen, really, but when he goes back to sleep, all that repeats in his mind are the words <em> do you think it’s safe to take him? </em>And when he wakes up again, it’s stuck.</p><p>“Fuck.” He whispers, pulling himself up into a sitting position as slow as he can, trying to to disturb his leg too bad. He pushes his hands into his eyes, stopping the tears before they can run down his face. There’s thoughts swirling through his head, telling him last night was just a hallucination, just a dream, but he tries to ignore them, tries to tell them no. But what is there to say it wasn’t? “Fuck.”</p><p>“You okay?” A voice speaks, suddenly, and he jumps, eyes wide, turning, looking.</p><p>That man, from before, is sitting at the other side of the tent, a sketchbook in his hands. He looks young, slightly, but Dream doesn’t know if he actually is or not. His hair’s dark, he notices, and there’s a knife resting in his lap. His clothes look worn, but still together, not even stitched up yet. He’s staring at Dream, concern evident in his look, and it takes a moment for Dream to realize he’s waiting for him to respond.</p><p>“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I think.” He gets out, face turning back to look down at the ground. “I think.” He repeats.</p><p>It’s silent, for a few moments, the only sounds being the wind whistling, until the other man speaks.</p><p>“I don’t think I’ve introduced myself to you yet.” Dream can see the man smiling out of the corner of his eye. “I’m George.”</p><p>And it’s silent, again. It’s silent for a moment, and another, and another, until Dream gets tired of it.</p><p>“You can call me Dream.” He whispers, and after a second, he sticks his hand out. It takes a moment, but the other man eventually shakes his hand, and they settle back, waiting. Waiting for what, though? Dream doesn’t know.</p><p>“How old are you?” The man asks, crossing his legs, and Dream stares for a moment having to think.</p><p>“Do you know what day it is?” He asks, staring as he waits.</p><p>“August 10th.”</p><p>“Then I’ll be 20 in 2 days.” He smiles slightly, and watches as George gasps.</p><p>“How are you younger than me? What the fuck? And your birthday is in 2 days?” He asks, staring at Dream in shock for a second before clamoring up. “I have to ask Nick something.”</p><p>Before he can leave the tent, though, Dream stops him.</p><p>“George! Would you mind, uh, asking Nick if he’ll just call me Dream?” He’s nervous, looking down as soon as he finishes the question. He misses George’s face, and he can’t tell if he’s happy or sad about that.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, of course.” George tells him, and then there’s the sound of the flaps moving, and then silence. Dream can’t tell if he likes it or not.</p><p>Later, Nick helps him leave the tent for the first time, sitting by the fire, and Dream shivers in the silence, crossing his arms around his knees, waiting.</p><p>“When did you start calling yourself ‘Dream’?” Nick asks, softly, in the light of the fire. Dream stays silent, staring into the light, as Nick waits.</p><p>He knows the answer, and it’s on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t know if he’s ready to say it. The answer is there, easily. It’s a memory that’s always near, one he won’t forget, but is he actually ready to say it?</p><p>He doesn’t know.</p><p>And it takes a few more moments, a few more bits of silence, but he starts talking.</p><p>“It was a couple years ago.” He starts, slowly. “It hadn’t even been a year since this whole thing started, and I had-” He stops, swallowing. “I had been walking for that day, when I saw someone in the distance. I thought it was a zombie, but then they ran, and they seemed so <em> happy </em> . They couldn’t have been more than 16, and I thought that I finally had a group to be with, one that could keep me safe. Because this man and this other teenager came up afterwards, and they seemed so <em> happy </em>.</p><p>“And I was happy with them, too. I was so, so happy. We all fought together and ate together and did everything that you should do. We cleaned each other up and we held the younger boys when they cried, and we hid our worries, and we tried to be brave. We tried to help when we could, and did the best we could.”</p><p>He pauses at that point, holding his hands up to his eyes as he tries to hide the fact that he’s crying. The shuddering breath he takes doesn’t help his case, though, and soon enough he feels Nick’s arms wrap around him, steadying him. He buries his face into Nick’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around him, and he cries, letting it out.</p><p>“Th-They left me, Nick.” He cries, holding on to him. “They abandoned me to some zombies, and they fucking ran, and they just left me to <em> die </em>.”</p><p>Nick doesn’t say anything, except he just holds him tighter, and they sit there as it turns from night to day, and if Dream’s eyes are red and his voice is scratchy the next day, no one says anything. No one says something at all.</p><p>And Dream doesn’t know how to act, or what to do, now that he’s sobbed his soul out and the two heard it, but for now he can ignore it. Ignore the fact he never answered Nick's question. He can ignore the fact he cried his heart out on his birthday. He can ignore it all.</p><p>For now.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi i have a tumblr &lt;3 it's @/thedreamsteam but i also gif and reblog movies n tv shows n stuff so if u see that stuff dont worry its me lol</p><p>also if u wanna send me asks about my stuff,,,, i might even take requests as long as it isnt creepy/weird/nsfw!!!</p><p>ok have a good day and there may be a sequel if i feel like/still rlly like them!!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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